"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass."-GandalfJ.R.R. Tolkien, The Bridge of Khazad-dûm, The Fellowship of the Ring Gandalf (real name: Amos) is a war veteran, or so he says. He also claims to have visions of the future, so what he says doesn’t hold a lot of merit. He has periods of blindness so he keeps a walking stick with him. When he can see, he is colorblind. He scavenges for scraps and relics of the before-time that he can trade at the Hub. He’s seen roaming the streets pushing a squeaky shopping cart full of his finds for the day. His favorite things to find are framed butterflies.
Gandalf got his name from a group of teens who encountered him during one of his visions some twenty years back, after there had been a few showings of The Lord of the Rings at the Movie Theater in the Bay Area. He became an urban legend of sorts, the raving old man down the river with the long white hair and beard and crazy eyes. Some say he wandered out of the Gamma Guild, but no one knows for sure. To most, he’s always been around and seems like he always will be.
Like his namesake, Gandalf has white hair and a long white beard. His eyes are bulging and red-rimmed, and he looks like he might have cataracts. His skin is clammy and a strange greyish color, with patches of bumpy red on the backs of his hands, his neck, and moving onto his cheeks. His whole body is wrinkled and veiny. He wears ragged dirty clothes in white and grey, and has a puffy winter coat with half of the stuffing missing that he wears when he gets cold. He sometimes ties a scarf around his head like a turban for warmth and to keep the sun out of his eyes. He walks hunched over and carries a walking stick.
When he’s not in one of his prophetic moods, Gandalf speaks mostly in grunts and quiet words, and particularly likes using his gnarled fingers to jab at people while bartering. He’s impossible to rip off and makes sure he gets exactly what he wants in trades. When he has an episode, he stands rocking back and forth with his hands outstretched high into the air. Sometimes he yells of what he sees, loud proclamations of the end times, or sometimes it’s murmurs or songs.
Gandalf’s visions are usually limited to swirling colors and blurred shapes, which is how he differentiates them from his day-to-day because he can’t see most colors otherwise. He gets the occasional doomsday vision, but because no one listened to his warnings the first few times, he’s moved to just muttering under his breath about the inevitability of the Earth falling into the Sun and the mega volcano under the Grand Canyon that’s going to erupt and cover the entire United States in lava and rifts.
His house probably used to be someone’s garage, but has since been turned into a nest. It sits on the East River’s coast. Frames upon frames of pinned butterflies line the walls, most with the glass missing completely or shards still clinging to the edges. There’s no clear sense of furniture, only piles of blankets and who knows what. His house also has a fishing pole, a shopping cart that he uses to scavenge, piles of books and DVDs, and a beat up television with a built in DVD player. Some people think he’s rigged traps in his house to keep out invaders, but no one has ventured far enough in to know for sure.
Age: 65
Profession: Prophet, hermit, scavenger
Location: Gandalf's House
Affiliations: Mutated, The Gamma Guild
Disposition: brain-addled, reclusive
Character Background and Description
"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udûn. Go back to the Shadow! You cannot pass."-GandalfJ.R.R. Tolkien, The Bridge of Khazad-dûm, The Fellowship of the Ring
Gandalf (real name: Amos) is a war veteran, or so he says. He also claims to have visions of the future, so what he says doesn’t hold a lot of merit. He has periods of blindness so he keeps a walking stick with him. When he can see, he is colorblind. He scavenges for scraps and relics of the before-time that he can trade at the Hub. He’s seen roaming the streets pushing a squeaky shopping cart full of his finds for the day. His favorite things to find are framed butterflies.
Gandalf got his name from a group of teens who encountered him during one of his visions some twenty years back, after there had been a few showings of The Lord of the Rings at the Movie Theater in the Bay Area. He became an urban legend of sorts, the raving old man down the river with the long white hair and beard and crazy eyes. Some say he wandered out of the Gamma Guild, but no one knows for sure. To most, he’s always been around and seems like he always will be.
Like his namesake, Gandalf has white hair and a long white beard. His eyes are bulging and red-rimmed, and he looks like he might have cataracts. His skin is clammy and a strange greyish color, with patches of bumpy red on the backs of his hands, his neck, and moving onto his cheeks. His whole body is wrinkled and veiny. He wears ragged dirty clothes in white and grey, and has a puffy winter coat with half of the stuffing missing that he wears when he gets cold. He sometimes ties a scarf around his head like a turban for warmth and to keep the sun out of his eyes. He walks hunched over and carries a walking stick.
When he’s not in one of his prophetic moods, Gandalf speaks mostly in grunts and quiet words, and particularly likes using his gnarled fingers to jab at people while bartering. He’s impossible to rip off and makes sure he gets exactly what he wants in trades. When he has an episode, he stands rocking back and forth with his hands outstretched high into the air. Sometimes he yells of what he sees, loud proclamations of the end times, or sometimes it’s murmurs or songs.
Gandalf’s visions are usually limited to swirling colors and blurred shapes, which is how he differentiates them from his day-to-day because he can’t see most colors otherwise. He gets the occasional doomsday vision, but because no one listened to his warnings the first few times, he’s moved to just muttering under his breath about the inevitability of the Earth falling into the Sun and the mega volcano under the Grand Canyon that’s going to erupt and cover the entire United States in lava and rifts.
His house probably used to be someone’s garage, but has since been turned into a nest. It sits on the East River’s coast. Frames upon frames of pinned butterflies line the walls, most with the glass missing completely or shards still clinging to the edges. There’s no clear sense of furniture, only piles of blankets and who knows what. His house also has a fishing pole, a shopping cart that he uses to scavenge, piles of books and DVDs, and a beat up television with a built in DVD player. Some people think he’s rigged traps in his house to keep out invaders, but no one has ventured far enough in to know for sure.